


What He Chose

by afteriwake



Series: In So Few Words [41]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awake Sherlock, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Farting, Fluff and Humor, Forehead Kisses, Half-Asleep Molly, Happy Sherlock, Literal Sleeping Together, New Relationship(s), POV Sherlock Holmes, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlock-centric, Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017, Stealing Covers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 02:30:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10957803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: Sherlock shares a bed with someone for the first time ever and it isn’t quite what he expected it would be like.





	What He Chose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NSquared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NSquared/gifts).



> **Nsquared** sent me a prompt (that was later claimed by an anonymous user for Sherlolly Spring Fling) from [this list](http://penaltywaltz.tumblr.com/post/155471364278/posterofamyth-jessyyjones-opalclit-things) (“ _'did you just fart' 'yes' 'okay.' *ten seconds later* 'AUGH' I'm already laughing XD Sherlolly?_ ”) that I thought would be perfect for Day 4 of Sherlolly Appreciation Week ( _Sleepover/Sleeping Together_ ), but I got the list too late to do it that day so here it is for Day 7's Free Choice Day!

He had already used her bed. Countless times. It was rather comfortable, though not quite as comfortable as his own, but a very close second. Her pillows were just firm enough. The quilt on top was not too thick but not too thin. The sheets were a high thread count and good cotton. So he preferred her bed and enjoyed sleeping in it.

But he was used to sleeping in it _alone_.

It was an entirely new experience _sharing_ it.

He had never been one to share a bed. His encounters with other women, even Irene, had been brief and never usually had much post-coital bed sharing involved, usually enough to catch their breath and get their bodies back to some semblance of normal function. Most times he would leave to clean himself up and then go elsewhere to think on things, as while he wasn’t inordinately fond of shagging it did tend to help clear his mind for a bit. A new rush of endorphins, he supposed. He always chose to take advantage of them while he could. When he felt the need to sleep, it was always in another bed.

There had been no shagging tonight. There could have been, he supposed; emotions between them were running high due to the events of the day, the confessions they had made, but it was perhaps best not to. That was not what he wanted to have happen for their first time. She had deserved hearing his love for her in a better way so he would be damn sure every other stage of... _this_ , between them, would be done _better_. But tonight they could share a bed and get some well-deserved rest and in the morning she would be there and he would be there and it would, indeed, be a new experience, at least for him.

If he could just get through the night.

He had not realized how used he was to having his own space, to claiming huge swaths of a bed with his body. He was a tosser, a turner, and he found he could not keep a hold on her. Worst of all, she was the same, and when he awoke at some undetermined point in the night she was nearly diagonal with the quilt all wrapped around her like a cocoon while he was on the edge, curled on his side, facing her and shivering.

This would never do.

He opened his mouth to wake her up and plead for some of the quilt when the unmistakable sound of someone, mainly her, passing gas filled the room. He was speechless for a moment. “Molly?” he asked.

“Yes?” came her mumbled sleepy reply.

“Did you just pass gas?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Ah,” he said. He rolled onto his back, then turned to face her and saw she may not have even realized she’d just had a conversation when the smell worse than the last time he’d dealt with sulfur hit him. He scrunched his nose and pulled the pillow out from under his head, burying it on top of his face. Was this an every time occurrence? Was this going to happen often? Did _he_ do this? Could he live with her doing this every. Single. Night?

Yes.

He chuckled despite himself as he thought about it and all the other things that she could do, and had done, in all the years that he had known her. The awkward and clumsy things that she had done that, by God, he absolutely adored about her. And if he had to endure this every night to have her in his life, so be it. They’d invest in a fan. The white noise would help keep him asleep, he supposed, and he liked cold rooms.

“Sherlock?” he heard her ask. He lifted the pillow off his face and turned to look at her. “Did you pass gas?”

He chuckled again and shook his head. “That is all you, Molly.”

She made a face and then shifted a bit, lifting up her arm and the quilt with it, silently inviting him closer. “We should air the place out.”

“I think I can live with it,” he said, setting the pillow back on the bed and scooting closer to her to share her pillow and the quilt. He leaned his face towards hers and kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mmkay,” she said, snuggling against him and putting her arm around him so the quilt covered them both. Under the quilt he wrapped his arm around her and then shut his eyes, the smell already dissipating. Yes, this was the life he would choose, for all it contained. This was what he wanted now.


End file.
